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I grunted and flexed my fists. This wasn’t easy to listen to.
Edge’s hands went up. “Hasn’t happened since Jet. I cut ties. Couldn’t handle bein’ around anybody.”
“What’d she do for you?”
“Directing her was my therapy. I’d get to watch. Get to tell her what to do. She’d listen. That did it for me. Seeing her bloom. Hearing she was feeling better about things because of my help. And she told me you’re kinda like me in some ways, so maybe you’re already working on building her confidence. She says you take her back, that you make her feel safe, that you want to help her get stronger, so maybe my suggestions’ll help. Maybe you’re already working a plan.”
“And that did what for you exactly?” I asked even though I already knew what the answer would be.
“Brother, you know my name,” Edge stated with his brows up high.
“Edging,” I stated quietly.
He shrugged.
“So you’d watch my girl get off and hold yourself back?”
“That’s one way to put it. Gave that name to myself because I’ve always lived life on the edge. Edge of poverty. Edge of insanity. Edge of pitch-black darkness. Born with the name Edgar. Don’t fuckin’ tell nobody,” he pointed at me aggressively. “You get that because of what I got from Gia, so it feels like I’ve paid a penance here, and believe me, it costs me to give that to you. Only other people that know that name are Rudy and Delia. Kids on the street knew me as Eddie.”
“So you’re here to tell me to be bossier to my girl than I am and it’ll help her.”
“Do with that information what you want. She tells me you’re already pretty bossy.”
I snickered. But I still wasn’t finding all this very amusing.
“And in a way that she likes. She’s got it bad for you, says she keeps fuckin’ up. She wants to give you everything she has to give, and she’ll do it too. She’ll burn her own light out making sure you don’t have to live in the dark. But she needs patience.”
“I know.” And I did not have a lot of patience.
“What I did for her helped a bit. We didn’t do it for long. Comin’ from you, it could mean everything. Make her see how beautiful she is. Give her an escape from the pain in her head with a release. Make her believe in herself. In your relationship. Maybe you’ll take it to a new level.” He shrugged.
I said nothing. No way did I want to mimic shit my girl did with another guy. No fucking way.
“I only bring this to you because one, she’s such a sweet fuckin’ girl. Even told myself if I got the shit out of my head by gettin’ a chance at retribution, maybe I’d call her up. Take things to another level with her.”
My eyes narrowed, but before I could fully react, he tacked on, “But two, seein’ how she is with you, or more so, seeing how you are with her? Know she’s better off. You could heal that girl if you put your mind to it. She don’t need to take on my mentally fucked up disaster of a head. I should probably hitch my wagon to a head doctor.” He tapped his noggin. “Think on it, brother, I won’t bring this shit up again unless you wanna talk about it.”
I would absolutely not bring up the fact he got off watching my girl make herself come or that his voice in her ear telling her what to do, what to think, could be responsible for healing any part of her. I’d already decided to heal her. He was right about one thing, I needed to find patience.
He slapped my back with affection and then walked off.
20
I stepped in from my post-workout shower, finding her on the bed, strumming the Gibson, pen in her mouth, notebook beside her.
She let the pen drop and asked, “You upset with me?”
“Should I be?”
“Don’t think so. Didn’t know how that talk with Edge would go.”
I dropped my towel and grabbed a pair of boxers from the drawer. The drawer was full and organized. She did my laundry. The room looked and smelled clean.
“Do we… talk about that?” she asked.
“Still processing,” I told her.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I’ll know when I’m done processing, I guess.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Um… do you think you could help me with a song?”
Up until now, she’d always stop playing when I came in. She’d sing along to the radio beside me in the truck and when we were at the cabin she’d sing while I played the guitar. But she’d never opened up about what was in those journals and she’d never continued to play something of hers when I came into view.
“Happy to try,” I replied, got into a clean pair of jeans, and sat down.
